


1-800-273-8255

by justrae2010



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Coping Mechanisms, Crying, Depression, Help, I promise, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Prevention Hotlines, reaching out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 21:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16730529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justrae2010/pseuds/justrae2010
Summary: A 23 year old Victor Nikiforov is feeling the pressure of being Russia’s darling on the eve of Skate America - his last assignment before the Grand Prix final that he is heavily tipped to win gold in for the first time - and a young Yuuri Katsuki takes a summer job in Detroit. Victor cracks and makes a call. Yuuri is there to answer._Victor’s lip trembled dangerously as he answered. “Um…” How did he even begin to describe it? “I’m scared,” he said honestly, voice far from steady. “Some-something happened and I just, um,” he sucked in a deep breath. It was harder to say than he’d thought it would be, words catching in his throat. “I th-think I need some help.”





	1-800-273-8255

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheDerpierSide](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDerpierSide/gifts).



> Please don't hate me too hard for this. I really wanted to do this well, but also didn't want to talk up an actual hotline's time asking how they worked, what they said, etc. I did a ton of research, and tried my best. This cause is very important to me. As someone who has been that low, I really wanted to write this. I suffered in silence.
> 
> Please don't make the same mistake.
> 
>  
> 
> In case any of you ever need it, [here is a list ](http://ibpf.org/resource/list-international-suicide-hotlines)of the international suicide prevention hotlines. 

Tears were streaming down Victor’s face as the dialling tone beeped in his ear, hand shaking around his phone. He’d already dropped it twice. He barely felt the tears blink off his eyelashes and dribble over his lips, tasting the lingering salt they left behind. He couldn’t stop crying. The tears dripped neverending off his chin, eyes red and puffy from how long he’d cried and cheeks rough, lip quivering with every shallow breath.

He hadn’t meant to. Honestly, he hadn’t… but once he had, he couldn’t take it back. The thoughts didn’t go away.

And they absolutely terrified him.

His heart beat hard in his chest, scary and the most reassuring thing he’d felt in a long time. Each thump rattled through his rib cage - like his heart was trying to crawl out of his chest itself - like it was fighting to be free. It pulsed everywhere - Victor could even feel it in his fingertips as they held the phone up, dial tone ringing in what felt like a never ending loop.

 _It had to have been only a few minutes_ , Victor told himself, pressing his wide eyes shut and drawing in a trembling breath. Just a few minutes, if he could just breathe through a few more-

The line clicked.

“H-hello?” Victor said as soon as it did, voice high pitched with a desperation he’d be embarrassed of any other time.

He was a mess.

For a moment, the line was quiet and Victor panicked. Maybe he should hang up. Maybe he shouldn’t do this - people might think he was crazy! People might think he was selfish, might call the police on him, might leak something to the press. He hadn’t disguised his phone number. They might -

“ _Hi_.”

Victor’s breath hitched.

He wasn’t sure what he expected. Maybe a ‘ _Hello, welcome to the Suicide Prevention Centre, thank you for calling_ ’, something rattled off cheerily and impersonal like a telesales call, scripted and uncaring. Someone just doing a job. Someone just answering the phone for a paycheck.

It hadn’t really occurred to him that _a person_ might answer. A person that said _hi,_ as casually as if Victor had just called up a friend. The voice sounded so… _real_ , so soft and caring.

It made him panic all over again.

“ _Hello? Are you there?”_ the man on the other end of the phone line said, gentle voice twinged with concern.

 _Concern for_ him.

Victor took a deep breath, gathering the strength not to bottle it. “Y-yes, I’m here.”

“ _Good_ ,” Victor could hear the smile in the man’s voice, feeling it jolt right through him. He talked slow. Victor found it calming, trying to time his breath with the counsellor’s words. “ _Thanks for reaching out. I’m Yuuri. What can I do for you?”_

Victor opened his mouth… and choked.

He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to start or how this worked. He just … hadn’t, dialling the number in a panic from the Google page on his phone without thinking about what he might say, mouth hanging open gormlessly while tears leaked down his cheeks, eyes blinking wide like a deer in headlights. He hadn’t thought. He hadn’t thought of anything.

Shame crashed through him, thick and fast, head bowing and chest feeling like it was caving in on itself.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stammered, his skin crawling and hand trembling on his thigh. This had been a stupid idea... “I didn’t think this through. I-I shouldn’t have-”

_“No, no, wait - please don’t go!”_

Victor froze.

_Please don’t go._

Not ‘ _don’t hang up_ ’ - ‘ _please don’t go’._ Go as in… _go?_ As in… what he’d been thinking about when he’d called the hotline in the first place.

Fresh tears welled in Victor’s eyes, feeling his lip quiver. That’s what he’d been thinking when the thoughts had first come to him. Not _suicide,_ but that maybe he should just _go._ Leave this world and _go._ Like it was a simple as checking out of a hotel. Like he was just leaving for the grocery store. Like he was going to the rink and it was no big deal.

Only he wouldn’t have come back.

A whimper bled through Victor’s lips.

Just thinking about the word ' _suicide'_ had him flinching, a hand shooting to the side of his head like he should shake the thoughts right out of his brain.

He didn’t want to think about it. He couldn’t bear it.

_“What’s wrong?”_

Victor choked a gasp through his tears - he’d meant it to be a laugh… _what’s wrong?_ It was such a normal question.

Victor’s lip trembled dangerously as he answered. “Um…” How did he even begin to describe it? “I’m scared,” he said honestly, voice far from steady. “Some-something happened and I just, um,” he sucked in a deep breath. It was harder to say than he’d thought it would be, words catching in his throat. “I th-think I need some help.”

It wasn’t like him to stammer. It wasn’t like him to be nervous. It wasn’t like him to not be able to express himself, a master of emotion on the ice and the media’s dreamboat, able to answer every question they threw at him with calculated suave, teasing, flirting - it was effortless.

But this… this was _hard_.

He sniffled loudly, knowing the boy would be able to hear it down the phone line and dropping his head in his hands in shame at the thought.

“I was just ….” he sniffled again, sucking in a sharp breath. His fingers tightened in his hair, feeling the strands strain at the scalp. It helped. The pain helped. “I was just looking out the window at the cars a-and-” he pressed his eyes shut, whistling his breath through his teeth. He could do this. He was Victor Nikiforov; world record holder, Russia’s darling, and the favourite to win the World Championships this year. He could _do_ this. Despite all that though - “I wondered how it would feel if I stepped in front of one of them.”

 

* * *

 

Yuuri had been working at the call centre for just over three months when he’d gotten the call.

It wasn’t his cheeriest of jobs.

But it was doable. Flexible shift hours to work around his rink time, easy on his body, decent pay, and… and he wanted to help people. He wanted to help them smile again.

It almost felt like a duty to him. He’d faced his own mental obstacles with his anxiety; had braved the challenge of moving to a new country, had found a therapy course that seemed to be working well for him, had even started to work on weaning himself on a lower dose of his medication with his doctor he was doing so well… it only felt right he give back, try and help the people still needing their breakthrough. He wanted to help the next Yuuri Katsuki.

He knew first hand how much just having someone _listening_ to you could help. Just that simple validation could be enough sometimes, enough to realise it wasn’t you - it was the shitty situation, the unbalanced chemicals, the disorder being battled back every waking moment… and it could get better.

With help, it could get better.

He was proof of that.

Two years ago, nobody would have been able to tell the crying, quivering wreck of Yuuri Katsuki that he would be in America, chasing his dream of skating on the same ice as Victor Nikiforov one day … but he was.

And Victor was going to win the World Championships this year.

Yuuri could feel it, thighs clenching under his desk with anticipation at just the thought of it. Victor had already nailed his first competition that season. Once he did the same with Skate America and qualified for the final, it was practically in the bag. Nothing could stop him now, nothing.

Yuuri couldn’t wait.

He knew that Victor was something unstoppable, something special. Just looking at him, anyone could see - Victor Nikiforov was destined for greatness.

And Yuuri was lucky enough to get a chance to watch him achieve it.

It was thanks to Victor that he was able to decipher the Russian accent down the phone line as easily as he did, years of watching Victor’s accented English interviews finally paying off. Maybe it was a fan of the skating come over to watch Victor himself. There weren’t exactly many Russians in Detroit normally...

And when the man said he’d thought about jumping in front of a car, Yuuri had swallowed thickly.

“Okay,” he said, fighting to keep his tone neutral. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Not everybody did…

There was a pause.

Yuuri held his breath along with it. He didn’t like pauses. He never knew if they were going to end with something good or bad.

_“I-is this recorded?”_

“Yes,” he said with a rush of air, relieved the man was still there. “But it’s a confidential service. Nobody can access the call or any of the information you disclose without your consent. I can’t even see your phone number.”

_“My job... I-I can't have people know…”_

Yuuri understood. They got that a lot. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. You haven’t even told me your name. There’s no way for anyone to identify you.”

_“Do you need to know my name?”_

“Not if you don’t want me to.”

Yuuri didn’t need to know. He really didn’t. Some people liked being spoken to directly, others found the idea of surrendering a fraction of their identity terrifying. He’d had completely anonymous calls and some he knew the names and dates of every family member of his caller because they’d wanted him to know. Yuuri didn’t mind either way. He didn’t need a name to talk.

“You can always give a fake name, if you want?” he offered. A lot of people did that too, he knew. Whatever made them feel more comfortable.

There was another pause.

For a moment, Yuuri thought the man might have hung up. The line was so quiet, not even a sob, or cry, or-

A shaky breath shuddered down the line. _“Nick,”_ the man finally whispered, so quiet, Yuuri nearly missed it. He sounded so fragile, so broken, so defeated… it made Yuuri’s heart ache. _“Call me Nick.”_

Yuuri’s lips twitched in a sad smile though; Nick was still on the phone, still wanting to talk. That had to be a good sign.

“Okay, Nick,” Yuuri said softly, crossing his forearms on his desk and leaning his chin forward on top of them, careful not to jostle the mic of his headset. He wanted to be comfortable. He wanted to be able to give Nick his undivided attention. “Why don’t you tell me how you feel?”

 

* * *

 

Victor had been asked how he felt a lot.

When he fell on the ice, the doctor holding up a short light to his eyes that left bright dots in his vision.

“ _How do you feel?”_

When he was just about to step on the ice to skate for an audience, Yakov right there by his side as solid as a rock.

“ _How do you feel?”_

When he won his first gold medal, cameras popping and flashing in all directions, microphones and questions firing at him from all sides, but it was always the same one that got picked out first for him to answer at the press conferences.

“ _How do you feel?”_

Victor was used to the question - but not like this. Raw, honest, caring… it made whatever he’d been about to say on autopilot stick hard in his throat, choking on the words.

For once, he actually had to think about it.

“Scared,” he finally decided on.

His voice didn’t shake when he said it, knowing it was true the moment the word slipped from his lips. It came out fast, clipped - like he was afraid of the word itself. His fingers shook afresh around the phone - he was scared.

 _“Okay,”_ Yuuri’s voice said down the phone line, soft and gentle as the soothing tide of the sea balming over the shore. “ _What are you scared of?”_

Victor took a deep breath.

“Failing,” he sighed, fingers raking up through his silver locks, combing his bangs back from his face. “Everyone’s looking at me to be the best - and I am, I suppose. I really am… but I know that all it would take is just one mistake and it’s all over. I can’t let everyone down, I just can’t…”

 _One mistake_ … a too heavy fall. A broken ankle, a hard concussion. A few pounds too heavy, hips too wide to make those precious rotations. The triumph he had was so easily shattered, so easily crumbled. One bad day, one mistake could cost him absolutely everything. He didn’t have anything but his skating. It was more than just his career - it was his life.

His family was at the rink, in Yakov.

His money came from sponsors and prize money.

Hell, even half of his crushes and romances came from the ice!

If he snapped that ankle, if he hit that concussion too hard, he would be done for. He had no other job. He had no other talents. He had no other worthy qualifications. He had nothing…

He sucked in a shuddering breath, letting his head fall. More tears ran, trickling slow and calm off the tip of his straight nose, flushed red from his sniffling. If only the world could see him now, Russia’s champion brought down to his knees… Victor chuckled darkly.

Yuuri hummed in acknowledgement on the other end of the phone line. “ _That sounds like a lot of pressure for you.”_

Victor blinked with a gasp, tears stunned into temporary submission - he hadn’t been expecting that.

“You…” Victor pressed his eyes shut, swallowing the thick lump in his throat. “T-that’s it?”

_“I’m sorry?”_

“Aren’t you…” Victor took a deep breath, surprised at how level he managed to keep it. “Aren’t you going to tell me… you know… not to do it? Aren’t you supposed to stop me?”

_“That’s your decision to make, Nick. There’s not much I can do - I’m stuck in an office in downtown Detroit. All I can do is listen to you and help you make sense of your situation and your feelings the best I can, but if you think that ending your life is really your best course of action… there’s nothing I can do to stop you.”_

Victor just stared at nothing, slack jawed. Yuuri’s words echoed in his brain.

He didn’t know what to think.

He’d expected someone to tell him how much he had to live for. How some people have it so much harder than he does. That it would be a selfish thing for him to do.

That was what usually happened.

Nothing he did was ever taken seriously. It was always him being dramatic, or selfish, or air-headed. His ideas and thoughts were always shut down and ridiculed… until he did them anyway and made everyone gasp with surprise, wowing them with something they’d never dared even imagine.

His suicide would be the biggest surprise of his career…

And for once, he was truly free to do what he wanted… if he wanted.

Somehow, _that_ made him feel better. The control. The dignity. Not someone telling him he’s being stupid or selfish, that he shouldn’t go through with it, that he’s got so much to live for… it was like a splash of cold water to his consciousness, jolting him to sharp clarity. Hearing someone acknowledge it, actually _listen_ to what he said, what he felt… it took a weight off his chest that he’d thought would never budge. His next breath went a little deeper into his lungs. His eyes blinked a little drier.

“R-really?” he just croaked aloud though, throat tight.

 _“Yes,”_ Yuuri said, Victor’s heart melting at the warmth in his voice. _“It’s your choice. Have you ever called a hotline like this before?”_

“Um, no...”

_“Well, we’re mostly here to listen. We’re not here to tell you what the best decision is for your life, but we’d like to be able to work with you to try and improve your situation that is causing these feelings. A lot of people find that just having someone to talk to helps. We have local programmes we can connect you with for more support if you need-”_

“No,” Victor cut him off immediately. He couldn’t go to anyone. He just couldn’t. Not him. “No, I um,” he scrambled for an excuse. “I-I don’t live here. I’m just visiting for work.”

_“Okay… is there anybody back home you can talk to?”_

Victor shook his head before he realised that Yuuri couldn’t see it. “I don’t see my family anymore and the man who trains me… he just wouldn’t understand.”

Yakov wouldn’t. He just wouldn’t.

_“I see. Do you live with anyone?”_

“Only my dog…”

_“You have a dog?”_

Yuuri’s voice perked up audibly down the phone line, Victor just able to imagine the boy sitting up a little straighter in his chair, his eyes bright waiting on Victor’s next words. Of course, someone as nice as Yuuri would be a dog person, he thought with a smile.

It started the tears again though.

What would Makkachin do if he never came home… “She’s the light of my life,” he choked out, a single tear running over his lips. “I really don’t know what I’d do without her.”

That dog had done more for him that he’d care to admit in the few years that she’d been his, just by existing. Victor had never really thought about it before. He’d just loved her. Now he did think though… Makkachin was his everything. She’d been the light in his life that he’d kept fighting to be strong for. She was never disappointed in him when he didn’t make his jumps, when he cheated on his diet plan, when he got yet another silver instead of the gold medal that was always so close, yet so far...

_“Is she there with you?”_

Victor pressed his eyes shut.

“No,” he said bitterly, words sticking in his throat. “She’s back in Russia. I wasn’t able to bring her.”

_“Do you miss her?”_

“Very much.”

_“And your friends…”_

Victor fluttered his eyes open, rolling them up to the ceiling guiltily. “I’m friends with the people I work with, but…”

_“It’s not the same?”_

“No.”

They looked up to him just as much as the public did, Gosha, Mila - even little Yuri... he couldn’t shatter their illusion of him.

He didn’t have anybody he could just _talk_ to like he was talking to Yuuri. Yakov wouldn’t understand. He was talking to that Christophe boy more and more lately with every passing competition, but he wasn’t sure how much he could trust him with something like this yet. Makka, he could talk to… but Makka was a dog and was in Russia. It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough-

_“Do you have any hobbies that can take your mind off it? I go skating when things … seem a little hard to handle.”_

Victor made an unattractive sound in the back of his throat. “Y-you follow the skating?”

His heart dropped into his stomach.

If Yuuri followed the skating, then he undoubtedly knew his name even if he wasn’t a fan, knew who Victor was, might recognise his _voice_ maybe if he’d been following his interviews. Victor’s heart was in his mouth, holding his breath.

 _“Mm-hm,”_ Yuuri hummed down the line, Victor hearing the happy smile in the tone of his voice. _“I’m very excited for tomorrow.”_

_Skate America._

It was just Victor’s luck...

He swallowed the thick lump in his throat, tongue darting out to wet his dry lips. He almost didn’t want to ask. “What if…” he pressed his eyes shut, heart hammering against his ribcage. “What if Victor doesn’t do well?”

It was possible. He might not do well. It happened - it could always happen to him. There was no divine power that kept him safe.

It was exactly what he was afraid of.

His hands started to shake again, lip quivering as Yuuri sighed down the other end of the phone line. _Disappointment_ , Victor thought. He’d disappoint thousands. Millions. All looking up to him, all believing in him-

 _“I’ll still love him,”_ Yuuri said, sighing dreamily through Victor’s thoughts. “ _The way he skates … it’s more than just the points when it comes to his routines. They’re so_ beautiful _. They just tell such a story, and you can see how much he loves what he’s doing no matter what the judges say. I mean, I want him to win. He deserves to win. But it’s almost like it doesn’t matter, you know? Like…”_

Suddenly, Yuuri paused.

Victor held his breath.

 _“Sorry,”_ Yuuri chuckled awkwardly down the line after a beat. Victor could practically hear him blushing. _“I’m rambling, aren’t I?”_

A laugh bubbled out of Victor’s lips before he could help it. He slapped a hand over his mouth, biting his lip behind his fingers. “A-a little,” he giggled. He found it adorable though. Truly, utterly, and completely adorable.

_“I’m sorry. I’m supposed to be helping you, not-”_

“This is helping,” Victor insisted before Yuuri could say another word. A smile stretched over his lips as he said it - cheeks aching and lips feeling odd around his teeth - but he _felt_ it, tears beading in the corners of his eyes. Good ones, this time. “Trust me,” he said, sucking in a steadying breath. “This is helping.”

Because it was. It really was. Was this all he needed? To laugh, to smile, to talk to someone as Victor instead of the _Victor Nikiforov_ the cameras saw?

He’d never thought a stranger down the phone could do that.

_“How do you feel now?”_

Victor paused for a moment, thinking. “Um… better,” he said honestly, sighing and feeling relief flood through him when the air came out steady. “Tired, but better.”

He felt like he could sleep for days, exhausted. He’d never realised just how much it could take out of him. Feeling tired was never an alien feeling to him with his training, but for once Victor started to wonder how much of the ache really came from the ice when he lay in bed at night and just _hurt_. Maybe other things were hurting too. Things he couldn’t see.

But somehow, Yuuri could.

“ _Okay, good.”_ Victor could hear Yuuri’s smile through the line. “ _Do you think you’ll be okay? I’ll always be here if you need anything.”_

 

* * *

 

Technically, he knew he should have said _‘we’ll always be here’_ , not him specifically - knowing some people latched onto that very literally and would demand to only speak to one particular counsellor when they called… but for this man, Yuuri found he didn’t mind. He’d take every call. He’d do whatever it took to keep Nick from feeling scared of his own thoughts again.

He wanted to help.

“ _Okay_ ,” the caller said down the phone line. Yuuri could hear him nodding, could hear the subtle change in the tone of his breath as his head bobbed. His voice stayed strong though - determined. “ _Okay_.”

Yuuri was proud of him.

“Stay safe,” he said, smiling wide even though he knew Nick couldn’t see it. He couldn’t help it. Hearing how much better he was made it worth it. “Goodnight.”

 

* * *

 

The next day, Victor found himself huddled in the men’s bathroom of Detroit’s ice rink, trembling hand over his mouth and sucking in too many breaths too fast.

_“Hello, my name’s Sarah. How can I-”_

“Is Yuuri there?”

He knew it was rude - another thing he could berate himself over later, but he couldn't help it. He didn’t have time for pleasantries.

_“Um, we’re not really supposed to-”_

“Please,” he pressed his eyes shut, shame creeping ice cold down his spine. He shouldn’t be doing this. It was a very bad idea. He shouldn’t, he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t- “I spoke to him before. Please... I-I just really need him.”

There was a tense pause.

“ _One minute please.”_

The line went quiet.

For a moment, all Victor could hear was his own tense breathing. He was pathetic. He was supposed to be taking the world by storm and here he was cowering in a bathroom, alone, and frightened, and _begging._ Yuuri probably wasn’t even there anymore. He was a fan after all - he was probably out of the office already, down in the rink for the competition, ready to watch Victor _fail-_

_“Hello?”_

Victor sucked in a gasp, aching in his lungs. _Oh, thank God!_

“Yuuri? It’s me, um,” Victor pressed his eyes shut, searching for the fake name he’d given. “Nick. We spoke yesterday.”

For a moment, there was nothing…

… then Yuuri gasped. _“I remember,” he said. “Are you okay?”_

Victor’s lip trembled, eyes traitorously wet. “N-no. I don’t-” his hand reached up, pushing his bangs up and out of his eyes. The gel crumpled beneath his fingers. He’d just ruined his hairstyle. Another thing he’d done wrong already. “I d-don’t know what to do. I don’t think I can do this, I can’t-”

 _“Slow down, slow down...”_ Victor winced as he heard the drag of a chair down the phone line. He was keeping Yuuri. He shouldn’t… _“What happened?”_ Yuuri just asked calmly, phone line rattling as he pulled on the headset on firmer.

Victor sucked in a deep breath.

He knew he was going to fall. He knew it was a mistake. Just like on the ice where he could feel his angles were off, his weight on the wrong balance, could feel he would fall the moment he left the ice… he always jumped anyway.

“I messed up.”

He waited for the fall.

It always came. Jarring and shattering as he slammed into the ice, the weight of his failure just as crushing as the physical pain. Yuuri felt a million miles away down the phone line this time, so distressingly out of reach just like illusive quad flip always was too...

“I just…” Victor said before Yuuri could say anything, hearing the draw of breath down the phone line. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear Yuuri say anything yet. He wasn’t sure he was ready. Victor’s hands tangled in his hair until he was pulling at the roots, scrunching so hard it hurt. “It hit me really fast and I didn’t know what else to do.”

There had been so many people smiling, cheering, poking him, _terrifying him…_ and then there had been no one when he’d backed away and ran, nobody there for him when it mattered...

He shuddered at the thought.

 _“It’s okay, it’s okay_ ,” Yuuri’s voice soothed, loosening the tight bands around Victor’s lungs. “ _Do you want to talk about it?_ ”

“Yes,” Victor blurted, eyes shooting open. Then he frowned. “No.” His mouth hovered open, longing to be able to put the burning in his chest into words somehow. His fingers tightened in his hair in frustration. “I-I don’t know...”

He really didn’t. He had no idea what he wanted - only that he wanted to it _stop_. He didn’t know what to do. His chest hurt like it was caving in around his lungs and even though it hurt like hell, Victor still felt numb under his skin, a chill that he just couldn’t shake. Everything was falling apart, and he wasn’t sure how to stop it.

He hadn’t notice his breaths pick up, or his wheezes of air strain - but Yuuri had.

_“Touch the dip above your lips.”_

Victor stopped breathing.

He must have heard wrong... “W-what?”

 _“The dip above your lips,”_ Yuuri repeated calmly. “ _Between your mouth and your nose? Touch it.”_

Victor did.

He hadn’t realised his hands were shaking until he tried, poking himself in the face a few times by accident while he tried to concentrate on one spot. He felt his nail dig into the skin above his lips, no doubt drawing a red mark that would stand out from the rest of his makeup. More costly mistakes...

 _“Focus on your finger,”_ Yuuri said, voice smooth and velvety. “ _Think about that one spot, how the pad of your finger feels - is it rough, soft? - just focus on that one thing, and how it makes the rest of you feel.”_

Victor quirked an eyebrow, disappearing up into his hairline. He was glad Yuuri couldn’t see his face down the phone, twisted in confusion and drenched in drying tears.

He did as he was told though.

He focussed on the finger.

His touch was soft, fingers more weathered than he would have liked from those young reckless days of catching himself on the ice with his bare hands when he’d fallen. It made his skin tingle, shivers running down his spine. He felt his lips move with every inhale and exhale, the way they fluttered.

“ _Just focus on that one thing,”_ Yuuri said, voice whispering in Victor’s ear like a trance. “ _One thing first, then everything else, one thing at a time.”_

Victor sucked in a deep breath.

“ _How do you feel?”_

He pushed the air out of his lungs in a long exhale, lips molding around the breath beneath his finger. His mind felt clearer, sharper. He could still feel the chill of his breath on the inside edge of his lips… “Better.”

Down the phone, Victor could hear Yuuri’s smile. “ _Good_ ,” he said softly. “ _Now what’s the next thing to focus on? Just one thing...”_

_The short skate._

His eyes sharpened with intent, hands clenching. He needed to do the short skate, the routine that would show the world who he was as a skater, whether it medalled or not. Victor had _pride_ riding on this, not just money and medals. He’d helped choreograph his routine, had the music drafted specially for his vision. It was all his creation, all intended to instill him with a confidence that only he could manage…

He could do it. Just tune out for a few minutes and do what he did best, like he was back on the frozen lakes in the park in St Petersburg with his mother watching on with a video camera and a fond smile.

Just a few minutes.

Nothing else mattered but those few minutes. The world could shrivel and burn after those minutes for all Victor cared - he just needed that one moment to focus on...

He stood up sharply, knees clicking. It didn’t matter.

“I know what I have to do.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Did you watch?”

It had taken a lot of begging to get patched through to Yuuri when Victor had called the hotline again, cold, alone… and nowhere near as happy as he should have been. The thoughts had started to come back.

_What if he couldn’t be good enough?_

_What if he wasn’t as special as everybody wanted him to be?_

_What if he let them down?_

_What if he let_ Yuuri _down…_

His nails had raked absent minded down his forearm, concentrating on the sharp pin pricks of pain that danced over his skin in their wake. His mind wandered, thoughts slipping away from him. Maybe a sharper pain would help. Something sharper. Harder. Deeper.

_Permanent._

He blinked back into the room with a gasp, eyes shooting wide. When they glanced down to his forearm, his heart skipped a beat.

Red marks criss crossed over his pearlescent skin, a fiery, dangerous pattern. A few had broken skin, tiny beads of red bubbling. How had he not noticed? The pain crept in slowly, the sting building until Victor felt like his skin was burning…

He wrenched his hand away from his arm, clutching it tight to his chest.

He hadn’t been sure if daydreaming about dying really counted as being suicidal, but he had called anyway. He’d needed to hear a friendly voice.

He needed Yuuri.

“ _Yes_ !” Yuuri gasped down the phone, sucking in a deep breath. It made Victor flicker a smile. _“Did you?! He was incredible…”_

Victor’s cheeks glowed, glancing down to his knees.

He received raving reviews from his fans on social media, praise from the reporters - from Yakov even! The prospect of his rising talent was too good an opportunity to miss. It was his season. They all knew it.

But somehow, this one compliment from Yuuri surpassed all of that, Victor’s heart swelling in his chest.

It quickly flickered though when he realised it wasn’t over yet.

“I’m worried about his free skate,” he said, voice dull and toneless. When his eyes blinked, they blinked at nothing, blank and colourless. “It’s too ambitious. If he’s really going for the quad flip-”

_“Victor can do it. I know he can.”_

Victor’s head ducked, heart feeling heavy. _But what if I can’t,_ he thought to himself, fingers clenching over the material of his sweatpants.

He sucked in a shaky breath.

He didn’t want to think about tomorrow. Thinking about tomorrow only made him think about how he could escape it, and how his brain thought to escape it was… dangerous. Victor didn’t want to think like that.

“Has someone ever…” he pressed his eyes shut, already regretting his words. “You know… _gone through with it_ while you were talking to them?”

He heard Yuuri’s sharp inhale of breath.

He wasn’t sure what made him ask. It was a horrible question to ask, one that was never going to lead to a happy conversation, surely...

“ _Once_ ,” Yuuri whispered down the line. “ _It was horrible. There was nothing I could do.”_

The air choked in Victor’s throat.

He couldn’t imagine it. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how it must feel to have someone you were trying to help give up so resolutely, so violently. The guilt, the responsibility that must go through them knowing that their help simply wasn’t good enough… a tear slipped through Victor’s barrier, running gracefully down his cheek. He could hear it in Yuuri’s voice. How damaging it had been. How much it had hurt.

A rush of protective rage bubbled up inside him, a fierce swell that drowned out his own thoughts for … well, the impulse to give Yuuri a hug, frankly.

“I’m sorry,” Victor said, heart aching in his chest. “That must have been very hard.”

For a moment, the line was quiet.

_“Is that what you want to do now?”_

Victor thought about it. He thought about what he’d thought about earlier. How he could escape all the pressure so easily, a flick of a well placed blade, a step into busy traffic, a few too many painkillers washed down with some vodka… and Yuuri never getting another call, and knowing that he hadn’t been able to stop it. Victor could tell - Yuuri cared. It mattered.

“No,” he gasped, throat tight. He blinked fast, eyes wet. “I don’t want to hurt you like that.”

_“You’re sweet.”_

Victor sniffed. “No, you’re sweet.”

Because he really was.

Listening to Victor’s problems outside of work hours, the phone receiver at the call centre pressed against a colleague’s mobile phone dialling Yuuri’s number to reach him at home…

_“YA lyublyu tebya.”_

Victor’s breath caught.

_“You’re Russian, right? That’s the only Russian I know.”_

Yuuri chuckled shyly, bashfully - _adorably._ Victor’s heart beat so hard in his chest it hurt. Did Yuuri know what that meant? Surely, he wouldn’t say it if he did...

_I love you._

Victor decided he didn’t care.

“Are you going to watch tomorrow?” he asked breathlessly. Yuuri’s clumsy Russian still whirled in his head, making him delightfully dizzy.

“ _Mm-hm,”_ Yuuri hummed. Victor could hear his smile, hear the excitement in his tone. “ _I’ve got the day off to go see it. I was so lucky to get tickets - they cost an absolute fortune! It’ll be worth it though. For Victor.”_

Warmth spread through Victor’s chest, sucking in an unsteady breath.

That was all he needed to hear.

 

* * *

 

Hours later though, it all came crashing down.

Victor sat against the edge of his hotel bed again, arms locked around his drawn up knees and face blank. He should be asleep.

He couldn’t sleep.

He couldn’t do anything.

He couldn’t fret. He couldn’t panic. He couldn’t smile. It was too hard now. He’d forced himself to earlier, out there in front of the cameras until it _hurt_ to do it. Now, his face felt as stiff as wax, drawn long and tight. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t smile. He couldn’t even cry. A weight sat on his chest, not choking him like earlier, but _there_ all the same, hands and feet feeling like weights of lead on the end of tails of string they were so heavy. He was tired, so very, very tired…

He wanted to talk to Yuuri again.

It was stupid. Yuuri’s shift had long finished and there was no way he’d be allowed to patch back through to him in the middle of the night. Yuuri would be asleep - he had a competition to watch tomorrow. Victor’s competition. Not that Victor really wanted to bother Yuuri so much just so Victor could speak to him for a while. Or maybe he did, as selfish as it was.

He sighed heavily, chest falling with the movement. He barely felt anything though, none of the satisfaction from earlier.

Maybe tomorrow.

Maybe tomorrow it would get better. If it didn’t… Victor’s head hung, fingers sinking into his silky silver locks.

 

* * *

 

The world was busy the next day, cameras flashing, reporters calling, fans screaming… Victor touched his lips as he warmed up, taking deep breaths. His finger pressed carefully over his mouth, gentle and deliberate. He knew it wasn’t the spot that Yuuri had said. Lips were safer in front of countless cameras though - less chance of being snapped looking like he was picking his nose from the wrong angle. It wasn’t the headline he was going for.

It still worked. It still gave him something to focus on, something firm but gentle, something subtle but precise. It helped. Yuuri helped.

God, Victor wished he could talk to him.

He knew he shouldn’t call. The hotline needed to stay open for people that really needed it and Victor didn’t need it - he just needed Yuuri.

He couldn’t call though.

Last night had been bad enough, but there was definitely no way Victor could excuse calling now. He couldn’t keep clogging up the hotline when there were people who genuinely needed urgent help. He couldn’t take that away from them.

His hand clenched and unclenched at his side, nervous. He was allowed to be nervous, he decided, keeping his face poised and blank for the cameras though. Not an inch of it showed on his face, only his calm facade, only the face the world wanted to see. He didn’t want the world to see him have a meltdown over something that hadn’t even happened yet - in front of _Yuuri…_

Victor’s eyes scanned around the arena, over the thousands of faces in the crowd like somehow he might find Yuuri’s. He knew he wouldn’t. But maybe Yuuri would see him. Maybe it would make Yuuri smile.

He might not be strong enough for himself - but he could for Yuuri.

He would skate his best for Yuuri if it killed him. If he landed the quad flip or not. If it ended in gold or misery. If it was the beginning of Victor’s reign or retirement. He would do it, for him.

He promised it to himself as his name boomed around the arena and he took to the ice, weight of the world falling once again on his shoulders. He felt every set of eyes on him like a chip on his shoulders, chaining him down to the ice, too heavy to move - too heavy to _jump._ He froze, body going stiff.

But then he remembered that one set of eyes was Yuuri’s and he felt a little lighter - just enough. Just enough to skate.

Just enough to make history.

The music started, and Victor pushed off.

 

* * *

 

Victor didn’t just do his best - he did _the_ best. An hour later, with a gold medal around his neck, a new free skate world record under his belt, and the first quad flip landed in competition, Victor’s heart beat so fast in his chest it was a miracle he hadn’t fainted, sweaty, breathless smile gasping over his lips in stunned disbelief.

“You’re going to the Grand Prix final,” some nameless, faceless reporter asked from the sea of journalists dancing in front of him. Victor never found the face of the one talking. “How do you feel?”

Victor paused, thinking.

Yuuri was watching this. Somewhere in the audience, Yuuri was watching, delighted, and proud, and -

“Happy,” he said, nodding. _Smiling._

And he meant it.

 

* * *

 

Years later, Victor met Yuuri Katsuki.

Years later, Victor coached Yuuri to his own Grand Prix gold medal.

Years later, Victor put a ring on Yuuri’s finger and called him his husband officially for the first time, loving the way the word sounded on his lips and the blushing smile it brought to Yuuri’s face.

Years later, Victor Nikiforov was in love with the man who had unknowingly inspired his idol to go on to win his first Grand Prix medal in his history making career and land his first signature quad flip in competition.

Victor Nikiforov was Victor Nikiforov because of Yuuri Katsuki.

He’d worked it out a long time ago, but he’d never told Yuuri. He’d recognised Yuuri’s voice. The light in the darkness, the one that had pulled him out of his pit… he’d saved Victor’s life.

Victor smiled at his husband, sat across the couch from him in their flat, cuddled up to Makkachin. He couldn’t believe it. How wonderful that glorious mess of a person was. Yuuri tucked an overgrown strand of dark hair behind his ear, cheeks flushing bashfully under the stare. It only made Victor smile wider.

He’d never know how important he was.

Yuuri had been his life before they’d ever even met, and Yuuri would never know. Victor would though. And he’d never stop being thankful for it.

 


End file.
